


Bones, Poking Through, All Beat Up But A Token Few

by Arkie



Series: DJ, Turn Up The F*king Sound [UMY Garbage Court] [3]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Torture sorta, Urban Magic Yogs, but no one we know and they probably deserved it tbh, umy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkie/pseuds/Arkie
Summary: The door opened and Ross didn't know what he was expecting - a great hulking monster, perhaps - but it wasn't the round-faced guy in a baseball cap that shuffled in.-Ross sees the court in action, and soon meets their last member, whom, for good reason, he hadn't known existed.





	Bones, Poking Through, All Beat Up But A Token Few

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hooligans by Don Diablo & Example (VIP Mix)

It was past closing time at the club, though the music still pound through the empty floors, and three creatures stood before Trott. 

Ross wasn't sure what they were - they had long, black horns and a fawn-like appearance, if fawns were vicious and gnarled and hulking, crouched on two beefy hooved legs rippling with muscles that looked like they could break a person in half with a single kick. 

They were near spitting with rage, as well; horselike nostrils flaring and snorting. 

"You broke your promise, mangy seal," the one in front snarled and spittle went flying. "You should owe us a debt, to be paid how we see fit!"

Trott, for his part, looked entirely unruffled, meeting the leader's curved glare with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. Smith and Ross stood at his either side. 

"You got what you asked for," Trott drawled, unconcerned. "It isn't our fault you failed to clarify your terms. Clearly, you should return to your drawing board and try to decide whether your feeble minds are truly up to such tasks of language and intelligence. Put together, of course." 

The leader surged forwards and one of his fellows grabbed his arm to hold him back. "Filthy rat! You tricked us! You're the ones who landed us in this position!"

Trott's eyes narrowed and his voice went cold. "There is no trickery between fae. Only those who are smart," he tilted his head, "and those who are stupid." Then he smiled indulgently. "I'm afraid your lot rather fall into the latter." 

That was the last straw - the creature roared and lunged for Trott but in the split second in which Ross wondered if this wasn't according to plan Smith jerked forward and  _crashed_ into the horned beast. Trott didn't flinch, didn't show a single ounce of fear, if he felt any - hell, his smile widened, into a razor-sharp and impossibly pleased grin, as Smith grappled with the monster. The creature's two accomplices skittered back, shifting nervously from hoof to hoof and glancing at each other but not quite actually jumping to their leader's aid. 

Smith twisted his hold on the struggling leader and for a moment Ross wasn't sure what he was trying to do - then a wet, smothered sort of  _crack_ rang out and the creature screeched in pain. The lower half of his leg was hanging loosely from somewhere near the knee. He tried to clutch for it but his arms remained restrained. 

"Break the other one, too, Smith," Trott calmly commanded. Smith did so, uncaring and blank, and a  _crunch_ and a yell echoed through the room. Ross winced. He tried his best to remain steady at Trott's side. 

"You see, gentlemen," Trott explained to the onlookers, looking like the cat who got the cream. "A certain part of our agreement prohibits the intended use of violence against each other. And if that rule were broken, it would be retributed by whatever measures the wronged party feels necessary. Insisted on by your lot - to protect yourselves from us, probably. But now you see there was truly no need." Ross felt the music's pound overhead enhance the power of Trott's voice, beat by beat and entwining. " _We_ have followed the entire agreement to a T. However, by your utterly unprovoked and senseless attack on  _my_ life just now, you seem to have landed yourself on rather the wrong side of your own words." He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, though his eyes were alive and dancing with delight. Ross thought he looked beautiful. "No hard feelings, though, of course. It's only fair." 

Smith stepped away from the slumped pile on the floor, which moaned and groaned in pain. The creature, formerly so strong and rippling and intimidating, gathered his nerve enough to raise his terrified gaze to Smith's, unsure if more pain was to come. 

Smith spat on him. "Get lost, runt," he grunted. 

The other two creatures, so useless in their terror, rushed forwards to retrieve their ringleader and attempt to position him upright. It didn't work, obviously, and he'd half crumbled to the floor again with a shriek of shock and rage before they hauled him up to support between them. The awkward, wobbling trio of beasts, equal parts enraged and fearful for more damage, scrammed, making their way to and out the door at a jolting, hurried pace. Ross wasn't sure how they were going to make it down the stairs, but thought they'd probably figure it out. 

The music was quieting, suitably, as the need for it eased. As calm settled, Smith turned back to Trott, and they shared a sudden wild and utterly gleeful grin. Smith stepped forward and dived for a kiss, enrapturing and wild, and wound his arms round Trott's waist to lift him off his feet into the air. Trott shrieked and laughed and wound his hands in Smith's hair, continuing the kiss in a frenzy. The sense of victory was infectious, and Ross found himself grinning despite himself, watching. 

The kiss broke and Trott landed back on the ground. "Those suckers!" he gasped out into the gap between them, breathless. 

"You were amazing," Smith mumbled against his lips in a not-quite-a-kiss, eyes alight with adoration. Trott laughed back breathlessly, their noses and foreheads close in a way that was clearly so familiar. 

Then, to Ross's surprise, Trott turned and grabbed his hand. 

"You did well, too, Ross," Trott said, smiling in a way that said he was telling the truth, those amber eyes finding his and holding them steady. "You were perfect." He cupped Ross's cheek in his hand and Ross drew closer, astonished but smiling, gladly breathing in that perfect magic so thick and smothering and warm. "I know you were unsure. I know you were scared for me when he attacked." Eyes so deep, Trott smiled, and Ross swore he _felt_ it along with the breath on his lips. "But you were right to trust us. There's never a moment we don't know what we're doing. I promise." 

Ross glanced up - Smith had his nose buried in Trott's hair and his arms around him, and he too was watching Ross, but with no intensity; all calm and easy and withheld, the hint of a small and involuntary smile on his lips.

Under the utter swell of warmth and celebration, Ross couldn't help the small grin that spread on his lips. 

"Come on." Trott gave him a pat and released him. "Let's clean up and head home."

\---

They'd been home only ten minutes when the lock of the front door clicked and the air ran cold. 

Trott and Smith froze, gazes snapping to the door.

Ross looked at them curiously. He'd never seen either of them look this way before. So still, and rigid. Like they knew exactly what was coming. And knew there was nothing they could do about it. 

The door opened and Ross didn't know what he was expecting - a great hulking monster, perhaps - but it wasn't the round-faced guy in a baseball cap that shuffled in. 

"Hey, guys," the man called absently, and ambled towards the kitchen. Ross frowned - on first glance, there was absolutely nothing of note about the man, aside from his unexpected presence and the fact he clearly had a key to the apartment. Ross couldn't detect the slightest hint of magic about him. But there was a slight bored tilt to his lips, a slight sag and shuffle to his movement that suggested absolute ease and relaxedness disproportionate to the home he was in. And certainly disproportionate to Smith and Trott's reaction - Ross glanced to them for some hint of what to do, but they had both gone white, stock-still and hardly breathing. 

They shared a glance that Ross couldn't read and followed after the man, through into the kitchen. Ross trailed after their wake, unsure. 

"Sips," Smith started, and that itself was odd. Usually Trott did most of the talking. "What are you doing here?" He sounded cautious, measured. 

"Where the fuck do you keep your coffee?" the man - apparently nicknamed Sips - muttered, rummaging through cupboards. "Oh - here it is." He set about making it, opening and closing drawers at random to cobble together what he needed. 

Smith and Trott both waited, oddly. In dead silence as the kettle boiled and coffee stirred. All the way until Sips turned to address them, reclined back against the counter and taking a long sip of the mug in his hands. He couldn't have looked more relaxed. He reminded Ross of the jarls in some medieval videogame he'd seen once. 

"Heard you had some trouble lately?" Sips mused aloud, ignoring Smith's question completely. 

Trott swallowed before he replied. "We handled it. Nothing happened we didn't want to." 

Sips hummed with a slight tilt of a smile that didn't look entirely genuine, though that might just be his demeanour. "Oh, good. Didn't need lil' ol' me around to help, then, huh?" Neither of the others responded immediately, watching him. "Hey, when'd you pick up the limpet?" and Ross tensed in realisation; Sips's gaze had glanced over to him. 

"Not long ago," Trott responded in a mutter, eyes sliding to Ross. "Walked into our club."

"Huh." Sips eyed him a moment, then shrugged off the matter, unfazed, and sighed in an overly regretful sort of way. "As it happens, guys, this ain't just a social call." He pulled something from his pocket and held it aloft. "This look familiar at all?"

It looked unassuming. A small golf-ball sized wooden sphere on a tied loop of string. But it bore markings etched into its surface, crisscrossed and overlapping over every inch - runes, Ross assumed. 

"What is it?" Smith asked, looking guarded. 

"Well," Sips sighed, retracting it. "I'm not entirely sure. Showed up in my house one day about a week ago. Took it to a buddy of mine, she said she'd never seen anything like it and I probably shouldn't have touched it." He shrugged. "But then I got a little visitor. Weird little fellow. Horns. Said he was a messenger of some guy who calls himself 'the Master'. Said I'd been 'marked', whatever that means, and my family and I'll be dead in a few days if I don't hand over myself and my court in every regard and facet imaginable." 

He didn't look very concerned at this prospect, inspecting the ball with a very casual air, as though the whole deal was a mere inconvenience. "'Course, many have tried and many have failed at similar prospects. But hey, I mean, whoever this guy is, he sounds pretty convinced he's a threat." He shrugged and gave them all a lopsided sort of half-grin. "So, I figured it'd been long enough since I'd paid my little court a visit." 

Tense silence reigned. Smith and Trott looked to be processing the proclamation, careful to not allow any immediate emotion to show on their faces. Their eyes flicked to share a glance, then away. Then Trott spoke carefully.

"'The Master'?" he muttered. "I haven't heard of anyone using that as a title. At least not recently. Lord knows it's melodramatic enough to have popped up as a moniker from all sources over the years." 

But Sips squinted at them suspiciously, distracted. "You just did that thing, didn't you? That weird mind-reading thing."

They both frowned slightly at the jab but didn't respond. Ross had known them long enough at this point to know it wasn't literal, they just knew each other inside out and often didn't need words, though he did know exactly what Sips was referring to. Unless it had something to do with the selkie bond; he didn't know.

"Yeah, well, whatever." Sips shrugged at their silence. He tossed the ball in the air and caught it. "That's what I'dthought, too. Wondered if you guys would have anything to add, but ah well." 

Smith shifted a little. "And there was no other information? At all?"

"No, Smiffy, you great horse." Sips rolled his eyes and took a slurp of his coffee. "Anyway, I'll be sticking around a few days 'til this all gets cleared up. I'll take my usual room, don't worry about me." He brushed past, and gestured to Ross without sparing him a glance. "You, limpet. Come with me." 

He breezed out the room and stomped off down the hall. Ross twisted to stare at Smith and Trott for some kind of cue, or at least reassurance, but found they were both looking back at him with something of alarm in their gazes.

"Go on," Trott said quickly, quietly. "Better not keep him waiting."

"Wait." Smith caught his arm before he went. His eyes were an intense blue, his face hard and worried. "Just, remember - you're bonded to us, not him. You don't have to follow his orders."

Ross frowned in surprise, and nodded belatedly. Once again, Smith had thrown a spanner in the works of Ross's ongoing attempt to judge him. That was undoubtedly genuine worry in his eyes. Why else would he jump to give such a reminder? But then, the reminder could be for their sake, not Ross's...

Feeling like he'd left a part of himself back in the kitchen overthinking everything, Ross followed the sound of Sips's footsteps down the hall towards the chosen spare bedroom. 

**Author's Note:**

> Woot, we made it all the way to part three of a garbage court fic series before needing the 'graphic depictions of violence' tag. Lol. Is that a record?
> 
> So Sips is usually some sort of benevolent grandfather-type figure to everyone in these things. Yeahhhh... that's not quite the case here. Have I mentioned I'm fond of breaking norms?
> 
> (Also, I'm laughing because I just realised Ross, the main frickin character of this whole thing, doesn't speak once this part lmao)


End file.
